by Morgan Rice
Reece looked up at her, and for the first time, he seemed to have some sense of peace.
“My lady, that would set a terrible precedent,” Aberthol said, stepping forward.
“I am Queen, and she will be buried as I say,” she said, giving Aberthol a withering look until finally he backed away.
Gwen laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder, and he turned and looked at her, slightly mollified.
“She will be buried, my brother, as befits her. Our wedding shall be called off, and tomorrow, instead, we shall have her funeral. Will you bring her to the cemetery, so that her body can be prepared?”
Gwen needed to find a way to include Reece, so that he could feel as if he were a part of it, and so that they could begin to move on.
Reece looked at her, as if debating, and finally, he nodded, seeming satisfied.
“If she will be buried as you say, with all honors, then yes, I will take her.”
Gwen’s attendants came forward to take the corpse, but Reece shoved them away. He was mad with grief, and he would let no one else close to her.
Instead, Reece reached down and scooped her up himself. He stood there, holding her in his arms, then slowly walked off with her, into the forest trail, the men closing in with torches behind them.
Gwendolyn and Thor lingered behind. They stood there and looked at each other, their faces filled with grief and shock beneath the moonlight.
“Our wedding will have to be postponed,” Gwen said, her voice filled with sorrow and disappointment. “The grief that will run through our kingdom will be deep. I fear our wedding may not take place for many more moons.”
Thor nodded, agreeing.
“Our wedding bells will be replaced by funeral bells,” he said. “Such is the way of life.”
Thor embraced her and she embraced him back, hugged him tight.
Over his shoulder, Gwen cried silently, overwhelmed with grief, with loss. She could not help but think that this was the beginning of the end, of a new, even greater stretch of darkness, and that nothing would ever be the same in King’s Court again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Romulus marched down the wide country road, gravel crunching beneath his feet, leading thousands of soldiers, an entire division of his army following him into war. Romulus marched with confidence, taking long strides, fearless, with his shirt open and his large, glowing green amulet prominently visible on his chest.
Romulus felt like a new man since that ceremony in the cave. After he had risen from the waters, his initiation into the puddle of fire, that sorcerer had given him this amulet, along with the prophecy that he would wield it to become lord of the dragons. He assured him that, for the next moon cycle, nothing on this planet would stop him, not even the dragons, and not even the Ring. It would all—anything he could imagine—be his.
Romulus felt it to be true. Since leaving that cave he had put it to the test, consolidating his power over the Empire, ruthlessly assassinating all of his enemies, instilling fear in all of his men, and taking over, force by force, all of the legions that had once belonged to Andronicus. He had abolished the Empire Council, and he now ruled alone with an iron fist, leaving a wake of blood in his trail. He had been successful, no one able to stop him, managing to get the entire Empire to cower at the sight of him. The ceremony had worked.
And yet today, Romulus knew, would be the ultimate test of his power. Romulus’s people now believed in him, because of the prophecy, because of the rumors they had heard. They all already saw him as lord of the dragons.
But Romulus had not proven it yet, and his people knew that. He knew this final test would be the most important one: to become a ruler of legend, once and for all, to assure himself a place that no man could topple, he would need a dazzling display of power. He would need to demonstrate to his people that he could indeed stop the dragons.
Romulus marched with all of his men through the southern fields of the Empire, heading toward the city of Ganos, a once-great Empire city that now lay in ruins, ransacked by a host of dragons. Over these past moons reports had filtered in of the trail of devastation left by the dragons, who had been provoked when Romulus had entered their territory and tried to steal back the Destiny Sword. Now, the dragons were taking revenge. They were sweeping across the Empire, raining fire, wiping out one great Empire city after the next. There had been no way to stop them; Romulus had sent many divisions to try, only to see them obliterated. The Empire was losing ground, and the people were losing faith in him. If he didn’t do something fast, there would be a revolt.
Now, it was time for Romulus to offer a stunning display of his newfound power. To prove to his people that he indeed was lord of the dragons. If he could stop and control the dragons, that meant that the other prophecy was true, too: that he would shatter the Shield and enter the Ring. He smiled at the thought. He would control every inch of every corner of the world, and be the greatest ruler of all time.
Romulus’s heart pounded as he marched to Ganos, preparing to risk his life to face the dragons. If he died, at least he would go down in a blaze of glory—and if he survived, well, his life would never be the same.
“My liege, are you certain you want to attempt this?”
Romulus turned to see his lead generals behind him, panicked as they began to crest the final hill before their arrival in Ganos. He could see the fear in their eyes, these men who were never afraid. He understood; as soon as they crested this ridge, they would be spotted and would have no choice but to confront the dragons. And if they fared the same as every other army in the Empire, they, too, would soon be dead.
“My liege, please turn back,” another general said. “All of our men have died by the dragons’ breath. What if the prophecy is false? After all, you are but a single man.”
Romulus ignored them, marching faster and faster, cresting the top of the ridge, smiling to himself. He felt he would win. But if not, he didn’t care. He’d be glad to be burned alive with all his men. In fact, he would find that quite fun. He had no fear of death like these men. He knew it was coming for him soon enough. And if he was not meant to be ruler of the world, he would rather just embrace his death now.
Romulus crested the ridge and stopped in his tracks, his breath taken away at the sight. The entire vista below opened up, and Romulus saw dozens of dragons flapping their great wings in the air, screeching, arching their backs, intertwining in the air, soaring, diving down, rising up, pillaging the city below. Some of them breathed fire down on already smoldering buildings. Others swooped down with their great talons and tore up ancient buildings on the ground, as if playthings, carrying them into the sky, then dropping them. They were enjoying their destruction.
Romulus’s men came up beside him and stopped, and he heard their audible gasps. He could sense their fear, as the air was filled with the smell of sulfur, as the heat reached them from here, and as all around them the dragons screeched.
But Romulus stood unafraid. He could feel his new amulet throbbing on his chest, could see it throbbing green, and he felt himself infused with a strength he did not understand. It was a primal strength. The strength of other realms. He did not fear an encounter with the dragons; he craved one.
The host of dragons, as if sensing his presence, suddenly turned in his direction. They stopped what they were doing, arched their backs, and roared, infuriated. They then all came flying toward him at the speed of lightning, diving right for him.
Romulus stood his ground, unafraid, while many of his men turned and fled, screaming. Romulus waited and waited, as these huge, ancient creatures blackened the sky, swooping down, right for him. They opened their great mouths and breathed fire.
Romulus felt the heat as a wave of fire came his way. He knew this was his moment.
But he still was unafraid. Instead, he raised a single palm, held it out toward the fire, and watched as the dragons stopped in midair, several feet before they reached him. He threw his palm forward, and as he did,
the rain of fire descending for him suddenly reversed, shooting up in a storm, engulfing the dragons.
The dragons screeched, then they all lifted up, away from Romulus, in a rage.
They circled around, determined, swooping down for him again with their great talons extended, their huge jaws open—and this time, Romulus extended both palms.
A blue light shot forth, up into the sky, encasing all the dragons. He felt the amulet throbbing, the newfound strength coursing through his body, and within moments, he felt himself controlling the dragons. He raised his arms higher, and as he did, the dragons all froze in the air. Romulus lifted them higher and higher, until he stopped them exactly where he wanted them to be.
They looked down at him, confused, flapping their wings, unable to move, unable to breathe fire at him.
They stared down at him with a new expression. It was the look of a beast staring back at its master.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Reece knelt in the black of night, atop the cliffs, cradling Selese’s body in his arms, as he had been for hours, numb to the cold and to the wind and to the world around him. Thousands of people held torches in the night, a massive funeral procession, all crowding around the open grave, all waiting quietly, patiently, for Reece to let go of Selese’s body.
But Reece could not let go. He had been holding her for hours, weeping so much that he had no tears left to shed, and feeling completely empty to the world.
He still felt it had all been his fault. How stupid and reckless and irresponsible he had been to give in to his passions in the Upper Isles, to even look twice at Stara. How stupid he had been for his lapse of reason.
Because of his stupid feelings, because of his lust for Stara, this beautiful girl, who had been so devoted to him, who had risked it all for him, now lay dead.
All Reece had wanted was a chance to make up for his mistake. If it hadn’t been for Tirus’s son, Reece surely would have had that chance. After all, no one else even knew of his encounter with Stara, of his affections for her. Selese never would have known, and she’d be alive today. If it hadn’t been for Tirus’s son, Reece would be marrying Selese now, instead of burying her.
Reece hated himself. But even more so, he hated Tirus and his sons.
As Reece knelt there, he felt that Selese’s soul cried for vengeance. And he would not rest until he exacted it.
“Reece,” came a soft voice.
Reece felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Gwendolyn kneeling beside him.
“It is time to let her go. I know you don’t want to. But holding her here will not bring her back to us. She is gone now. The fates must take what they demand.”
Reece was overcome with anguish at the idea of letting her body go. He just wanted her to wake up again. He just wanted this nightmare to be over. He just wanted one more chance to make things right. Why couldn’t he have just one more chance? Why did his one mistake in life have to be a fatal one?
As Reece clutched her tightly, he knew on some level that Gwendolyn was right. He could not bring her back. Time for that had passed.
Reece leaned over and slowly, gently, lowered Selese’s body into the open grave, into the earth below.
He wept as her body slid down into the fresh dirt. Selese’s body spun around and landed face first, looking up to the sky, her eyes open. One of her arms propped up, her finger pointed toward Reece. Reece’s blood ran cold. He felt it was pointed at him accusingly. He wept and wept.
Reece looked on as others all around him began to shovel fresh dirt on Selese’s corpse.
“NO!” Reece shrieked.
Several strong men held him back, and soon, Selese’s body disappeared beneath the soil. It was all like a horrific dream. Dimly, Reece was aware of people he knew and loved, Gwendolyn and Thorgrin, his Legion brothers, faces that were now all just a blur of grief. They all tried to console him. But he was past consoling.
The love of his life—the true love of his life—was now dead and buried. He could not bring her back. But he could exact vengeance.
Reece slowly began to harden inside, as a resolve began to set hold. He looked out into the black of night, into the howling winds, and vowed that, no matter what it took, vengeance would be his.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Steffen sat on the top of the mountain ridge, on a small plateau, looking out at the countryside spread out below, and, still reeling from his encounter with his family, wiped away a tear. After instructing the royal caravan to wait down below, he had hiked up here, alone, to this spot he remembered as a child, the spot he would always come to be alone. The ridge, made of rocks and gravel, climbed steeply into the air, the crater at the top now a small, shallow reflecting pond, with a radius of perhaps twenty feet. It was a quiet, empty place, a place to reflect with nothing but sky, rocks, water, and wind.
A gust of wind pushed back his hair, and Steffen looked down at the rippling waters, reflecting the two suns in the sky. Being up here brought back his childhood. Too many times he’d come up here to get away from all of them, to stare into these waters and hope to see a different person staring back. A person who was not disfigured. A person with a perfect body and perfect shape, like all of the others. A person who was tall and strong and broad; a person his father could be proud of.
Usually, after a certain point, he’d stop looking. He’d look away instead, disappointed in himself, as usual, and understanding why others were disappointed in him, too.
This time, as he sat there, Steffen forced himself to keep looking, to stare into the waters. He saw his crooked shape, his short height, and he examined himself carefully. He did not have the good looks of all the others; and yet, this time, he also saw something else. He saw that his eyes, a light cream, were not terribly unattractive; neither was his auburn hair, thick and wavy, falling past his ears. If it were not for his shape, his body, he was not the ugliest man in the world.
When he looked into his face, he saw a face too big for his body—but he also saw a long, strong jaw and chin, saw a man who was proud and determined. A man who would not let others keep him down. A man who would not treat others the way he had been treated. Steffen took pride in that. He had a bigger heart than all of them, than all of those cruel people down in that village. It made him wonder: who, indeed, was the misshapen one? Why did he empower those people?
He would never have his family’s approval, but he could live with that. His own approval, he was starting to realize, could be enough.
“Steffen?” came a voice.
Steffen wheeled, surprised anyone else was up here—and even more surprised to see a beautiful woman standing there, perhaps twenty, wearing the simple garb of the villagers.
She looked down at him sweetly, not with the hate of the others, the same sweetness he’d detected in her voice. Very few people spoke to him in that sort of tone, kind and compassionate. He stared up, blinking, and wondered for a moment who she was.
“Do you not remember me?” she asked.
Steffen examined her closely. Her face was beautiful, her eyes almond-shaped, her jaw and cheekbones chiseled, with big wide lips, light brown eyes, and light brown hair to match. She was tall and thin, and as he examined her, he noticed her right hand was missing two fingers.
His eyes lit with recognition as it all flooded back to him.
“Arliss?” he asked.
Arliss nodded sweetly, and smiled.
“May I sit with you?” she asked.
Steffen looked up at her in wonder. He could barely catch his tongue. He could hardly comprehend how long it had been since he’d seen her, how beautiful she had become—and the fact that she had come all the way up here and actually wanted to sit with him. He looked up at her, wide-eyed with shock.
“When was the last time I saw you?” he asked, reeling.
She smiled sweetly.
“When we were six,” she said.
He looked at her, flabbergasted.
“You have
grown,” he said.
She laughed.
“As have you.”
He blushed, not knowing what else to say.
Steffen had never forgotten her. Growing up, Arliss had been the only one in his village who had been kind to him. Perhaps it was because she had been missing two fingers—imperfect, like him, it made her understand; the others had been cruel to her, too. But Steffen had always seen her as beautiful—the most beautiful girl in the village—and had always been so grateful for her kindness. Indeed, it had been the one thing that had sustained him up to the time he’d left, had taken away his darkest moments. He had never forgotten her, and had always wondered if he would ever see her again.
“May I sit with you?” she repeated.
Steffen remembered himself; he immediately slid over, making room for her to sit beside him.
“What are you doing up here?” he asked.
“Word spread you’d come to town, and I figured this is where you would be,” she replied.
Steffen sighed and shook his head.
“Some things never change,” he said.
“Did you see your family, then?” she asked.
He nodded, looking down.
“I should have known better,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she said, understanding in her voice, knowing everything immediately, as she’d always had. She understood all too well.
“I do not live near here anymore,” he said. “I live in King’s Court now. I serve the Queen.”
“I know,” she said, smiling back at him. “Word spreads quickly here.”
Steffen smiled.
“I forgot. The houses in this town have no walls.”
She laughed, a light carefree sound that restored Steffen, made him forget his woes.
“You coming through here with that royal entourage is probably the most exciting—and humiliating—thing that has ever happened to this excuse of a village. I think they’re all sitting down there in shame right now—at least, I hope they are.”